


Indigo Bloom

by januarywren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Death, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Birth Control, Casterly Rock, Childbirth, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Enthusiastic Consent, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Historical, House Lannister, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Lady Lives (ASoIaF), Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Light Petting, Love Confessions, Marriage of Convenience, Married Sansa Stark/Tywin Lannister, Mutual Pining, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, POV Sansa Stark, POV Tywin Lannister, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Protectiveness, Regency, Regency Romance, Romance, Sansa Stark Deserves Better, Sansa Stark Needs a Hug, Sansa Stark is a Lannister, Sansa Stark-centric, Secret Relationship, Smut, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tywin Lannister Being Tywin Lannister, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: It was right.Margaery would have exclaimed, had she known…It was wrong. So very, very wrong.Her mother and her governess would have said, had they known…In that moment, Sansa only thought of how soft his hands were, as they held her thighs apart. He wanted to devour her, adore her, until there was nothing left of her to share. “Oh! Tywin,” Sansa mewled, her hands tangling in his platinum curls. “Please, my Lord, please – “Regency AU | Harrold never knew how to appreciate what he had - who he had. Tywin did.
Relationships: Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark, Tywin Lannister & Sansa Stark, Tywin Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 73
Kudos: 382





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheRedWulf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRedWulf/gifts), [smokingsea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokingsea/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of a prompt I received on Tumblr: "...maybe Sansa cheating on her current boyfriend with Tywin..." 
> 
> This is a pairing that I *never* thought I would ship, but is it any surprise, when TheRedWulf and Smokingsea wrote amazing Sansa/Tywin fics?? Their work is amazing, and made me view the ship entirely differently - and then came anon's prompt...💞
> 
> I hope that you enjoy reading this! I edited it quite a bit, but still feel it's messy in parts, though I liked it enough to upload, all the same. I'm so grateful for everyone's support, and truly appreciate each and every one of you. 
> 
> PS: If you're looking for GoT fics to read, please check out TheRedWulf and Smokingsea's stories! They're incredibly talented, and I can't recommend them enough. 🙌

It was right.

Margaery would have exclaimed, had she known…

It was wrong. So very, very wrong. 

Her mother and her former governess would have said, had they known. 

Sansa whimpered as her lover spread her thighs apart and buried his face against her cunt. He was as shameless as she squirmed beneath him, her skirts bunched around her knees. He knew what she liked; he knew what she loved, his tongue darting to trace her damp folds.

“Oh! Tywin,” Sansa mewled, her hands tangling in his platinum curls. “Please, my Lord, please– “

Her lover was as greedy and cruel, as he was passionate. Sansa had never dreamed that laying with another could be like this; she never thought that she would delight at a man touching her. And Tywin touched her often, taking her with his fingers or his tongue before he filled her with his cock –

Sansa bucked against his face, as he slipped his index finger inside her.

“T-Tywin!”

He always knew what she needed, never allowing her to leave their bed before she had come at least twice, or more. “ _A pretty girl like you should always ask for more_ ,” he had told her, with the inviting arrogance that only a Lannister could have.

It was the same attitude that had charmed Sansa away from her husband, Harry, who was singularly focused on visiting every gentleman's club in England while spreading his seed.

(“ _A foolish boy_ ,” _Tywin whispered, the first time they had met at a gala. The so-called Great Lion, the master of society that was said to have single-handedly turned the tide of the war when young, had taken hold of Sansa and found that he liked her far more than he could have expected._ “ _He’ll never know what he had, and who he lost.”_

“ _I’m not someone to be claimed_ ,” _Sansa replied, and Tywin had laughed like a cool winter’s breeze._

“ _Of course, you are, my Lady_.”

_All women were_.)

And he had, by the gods, Tywin Lannister never accepting that he wasn't the master of his own fate. He believed in facts and figures and was loath to believe in the seven, and the tenets of faith. He was bold and assumptive as surely as if he were born assured of his place in the world and knew that the _ton_ would never turn its back on him.

It was the truth, Tywin admitted.

The _ton_ couldn’t ignore him, or any of the Lannisters’. They lay at the pinnacle of society, the Lannister family tied closer to the throne than anyone could imagine. They were behind every court appointment and knew every coin that lined the pocket of a serving wench or spy, there wasn't a quarrel, or betrothal proposed they hadn't orchestrated or predicted. They were the life of the court, and everyone but the royal family knew it.

_(“Shall I give you a crown, my Lady?” Tywin asked, his gloved hand tracing her collarbone. “Would you sit on my lap, if I held the throne?”_

_“I would have you as you are, my Lord,” Sansa said, gazing at him from beneath her dark eyelashes. She found she could be as familiar as she liked with him, once he'd been beneath her skirts, in the drawing-room._

_As Tywin.)_

Tywin tightened his hold on her thighs, as he suckled and lapped at her cunt. He often whispered to her how he adored her sweet, heady taste, yet Sansa’s cheeks burned all the same. She thought that she would die of shame when she saw her slick running down his cheeks, and how it glistened in his beard.

He pleasured her without restraint, making for a lover that she had never imagined.

Sansa moaned as he thrust two digits inside her, and she felt the press of his signet ring. It was too much and not enough, a feeling that Sansa always wanted. Her time with Harry was brief and uncaring, as he claimed her maidenhead and left her for his mistress soon after.

No, everything was different with Tywin.

"My lion," Sansa whispered, using the nickname that he allowed her alone to use. He was not a kind man, a warm man like her father had once been. Tywin was someone she had never dreamed of.

She saw him as he was, and who he was when he was beside her, in her bed –

He was someone that Sansa always wanted to know.

Love.

At that thought, Sansa found her release; crying out her lover’s name as she came. Slick gushed from between her cunt, the sheer feeling of it taking her breath away. 

“Tywin! Tywin, oh gods, T-Tywin!”

And he drew his soaking fingers from her and licked them clean. "Lovely girl," Tywin murmured, his lips red and swollen from giving her cunt his rapt attention.

Sansa wasn’t his first lover, yet he knew to the depths of his icy heart, that he wanted her to be the last. He wanted his mother’s ring on her finger, and her beside him every morning he awoke, and every night when he slipped into bed. He wanted to see her stomach swell with the result of their coupling, and untie her stays himself, showing her a tenderness that he reserved for her alone.

Tywin crawled upward, covering her slim frame with his own. “Will you allow me inside?” Tywin asked, drawing kisses across her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, and her plump lips. He encouraged her to taste herself, as his tongue slipped between her lips and tangled with her own tongue.

They kissed as she had never kissed Harry, and she was happy for it, for she found herself eager to learn everything that Tywin had to teach her. He showed her patience as long as she tried her best, his rare compliments thrilling her. She knew they were far from empty flattery, the kind the _ton_ drowned in. Tywin stood by his words, however pleasing or harsh they might be.

It was the same with the lessons that he taught her, drawing her to sit in his lap, and how to take her pleasure from him. It was Tywin too, that introduced her to the silk sheath that he covered his member with, preventing her from quickening with child. She had dreams of a family, with children to lavish with her love, but knew she would be ruined if she bore his child…

( _“Forgive me, Mother,” Sansa said, as she said her morning prayers._

_Her sheets carried Tywin's heady scent; cinnamon and cedar and rainy days that reminded her of time spent in the Highlands. Her slick dripped down her thighs, and hickeys covered the swell of her breasts and the side of her neck. Her sweet mother would have died of shame if she knew, but Sansa lost her the prior year._

_“I…I have a lover now. T-Tywin Lannister,” Sansa stumbled across his name, feeling her heart skip._ )

“Yes,” Sansa whispered, as if she never wanted anything more, “I love to feel you inside me, Tywin. Please, don’t let me go – “she could forget the world in his arms, no matter the tears that slipped down her cheeks, or the cruel words society whispered in her ear. What made her tremble was the very thought that Tywin would release her, allowing her to slip back into melancholy – loneliness – fear –

She felt brave when she was with him, she felt whole. It was something that Harry would never understand and had never tried to, once he slipped a gaudy ring on her finger and used her dowry to gamble on horse races. She couldn't take it if Tywin set her free, her wide eyes filling with tears at the very thought.

If only she knew, how much he had little intention to.

Tywin held her close, as he rolled on to his back, and positioned her above him. She was wet enough to straddle him, rubbing her cunt against his stiff member without feeling pain. Tywin had spent months coaxing her into his arms, showing her how pleasurable fucking could be. Her husband was a mere complication, one that Tywin was intent on permanently removing...

He wouldn’t allow Sansa to be shunned by divorce, he would have nothing taint her enchanting reputation. She was known for her kindness and her beauty, her hair truly sun-kissed, and Tully eyes as startling blue as the aquamarines he ached to give her. Tywin thought of Sansa more than she knew, more than she would ever know –

He knew that Sansa outshone the queen and the belles that filled the ton. She was the finest lady, and held the purest heart –

Tywin often found himself disturbed by his soft thoughts, though there was no one left to chide him. There was no one above him, there was no one equal to him, and the _ton_ played well by remembering this. He was unparalleled in position and ability, the same as Sansa would soon become.

( _“Do you fear the ton, Sansa?”_

_“Everyone does.”_

_“A wise view,” Tywin whispered, gently kissing her nape. He never suffered fools lightly, and Sansa was far from a silly, little girl._

_“There…there’s only one thing I fear more than the ton, Sansa said, so quietly if he hadn’t been near, he wouldn’t have heard her. “Someone.”_ )

Their cries filled the room, as Sansa ground herself against him. She often loved to ride him, reveling in the feel of his hands supporting her hips, and how deeply his cock filled her. He rocked his hips against her own, feeling as if he was far younger than he was. There were two decades between them, Tywin saw the streaks of silver in his hair, and knew that he was just over four decades, while Sansa was only a few years past girlhood. 

He was married once, to an insipid creature that had never quickened with child. It was an affair of little meaning, one that was made for political strength. Tywin knew the value of many, many things and he knew that Sansa Stark was worth far more than her husband.

She deserved someone who would respect her, and honor her, and fuck her as she deserved. Tywin never promised love to a woman nor a man, yet he felt that he could love Sansa.

He did love Sansa.

Their pleasure was entwined as they came together, and Tywin caught his love as she slumped forward. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and he smirked as she buried her face against his shoulder. She was innocent in ways that amused him, a quality he hoped that she would keep, even after they married.

(“ _I’ll take care of you, my Lady.” Tywin murmured; his arm curled about her narrow waist. He was more than the boy she had married, and not a fool like the knights she confessed to dreaming of. He lied to his mother, to his dearest friend, and to all those around him, spinning more webs than anyone could imagine._

_Yet with Sansa, he found he told the truth. He **wanted** to._

_"I'm not yours alone, my Lord," Sansa whispered, her eyes meeting his without flinching_.

_Tywin smirked, knowing that he would revel in the day when she found the nerve to hold a dagger to his throat. She kissed him once, on the cheek without asking, and it delighted him…she delighted him._ _“Ah, but you will be_.”

_She already was_.)

His elegant fingers combed through her thick hair, little words said between them. There was never a reason to hurry, both aware of her husband’s utter hopelessness at managing his affairs. He tumbled from bed to another, losing countless crowns at the racetrack, before losing himself in alcohol, and awakening in one gentleman’s club or another: without sparing a thought for his wife.

“I love you,” Sansa confessed, as afraid as she was that Tywin would reject her confession.

She knew his reputation, how he could cut one down with only a look, or a word. More than one forward matron or giggling debutante felt the lash of his tongue, and Sansa wondered why he spared her from it. He never raised his voice toward her nor his hand, and she felt that she always felt safe in his arms.

Still…

She nibbled at her lip, her thoughts whirling as they always did. Tywin scared her at times, as Sansa knew that he could break her if he wished. He could ruin her in the eyes of the _ton_ , and in her own eyes –

He could and would break her heart if he wished.

She was right.

She was wrong. So very, very wrong, for Tywin kissed her scalp, and said the words in turn. “I love you as well, Sansa,” and found he meant every word that he spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you inspiration, here's another chapter! 🤸💕
> 
> Your comments on the first were so sweet and kind, thank you everyone! I'm so excited to have reached over 250,000 views on my work - I can hardly believe it! Your support means everything to me, and I'm very grateful for it. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and stay safe! 🎉

_“Oh! Have you heard the news – “_

_“Harry, sweet Harry was found with a broken neck!”_

_“He was in his cups – “_

_“He rode his stallion, the one that he used to gallop through Hyde Park on – “_

_“My grandmother never forgave him for nearly sending her to our Lord_ ,” another voice piped. _“She said Harry was a rude, and insufferable fool, and as handsome as King Robert once was– “_

The most arrogant lady among them rapidly waved her fan, with a flick of her wrist. She never quite liked it when attention swayed from her, puffing up like a cat with its ears pinned back. “Harry isn’t quite as handsome now,” the group tittered at that, _“My fair sister said he had vomit running down his chin, and all you could see were the whites of his eyes! It was a horrible sight…”_ they shuddered, and gasped.

_“D-Do you think it was – “_

_“Murder?”_

_“Oh! Who would kill Harry?”_ it was a question that made some of them shift, uneasy in their finery, as they felt the rings on their ring finger. There were only a handful of women throughout London that had not slept with the charming lord, seeing as he never accepted being told ‘ _no_ ’.

_“He was as harmless as a kitten, one that had little idea of its claws. No, I don’t think anyone could bring themselves to kill dear Harry.”_

He was a little boy in the body of a man, one who was reckless and witless and amusing all at once. It was widely repeated throughout the _ton_ that any fair woman who sought a lover could find one in Harry, who smiled like the sun and loved to be indulged. 

The only woman who never had him as her lover was his wife, dear Sansa Stark, who was well known to the _ton_ , as envied as she was admired. The lowest of the _ton_ loved her while the highest hated her, the Stark name never counting for much. They were too wild, too free, too much of a pack of wolves to squabble and jostle their way throughout London’s society. And Sansa Stark, the last of her name, mimicked her family’s legacy exactly.

“Was that all?”

“Yes, my Lord,” the woman replied, meeting his cool stare.

She had repeated word for word what the ton said, and kept her head held high.

Fair-haired and pleasantly plump, the woman, Rose, had debuted three years prior. The _ton_ had paid her little attention and continued its indifference long past her marriage to a minor lord. It was only the man before her, Tywin Lannister, that assumed she held any worth when she became one of his so-called _representatives_.

She was his eyes and his ears that flooded society, one of many who had Lannister gold tucked away in their pocket and wore a signet ring with the emblem of a lamb. ‘For they were the ones put to slaughter, the lion holding them tight between its paws,’ Rose thought. They were cast from pewter, while the Lannisters were cast from gold.

It was her duty to listen to sweet whispers and hear the poison beneath them. It was her role to play the polite matron, the mouse-like woman who was apart of the groups that reveled and drank themselves silly, as she could observe and befriend those around her. It was her life’s calling to be ignored, both by her husband and the _ton_ that had little place for her. She was safe with the Lannisters' and knew that she would remain so, as long as she was loyal to Tywin alone.

Tywin knew the woman before him had little idea of the warmth in his heart. Few of his family had seen him smile, fewer still in society had ever truly heard him laugh. If anyone knew of his intentions with the newly widowed Sansa Stark, Tywin knew many would clamor for her hand, if only to spare her from his advances.

‘As if I am a monster,’ Tywin thought, his lips curling upward with amusement.

He was nothing like Robert Baratheon, with his slovenly taste, and love for excess that had bloated his mind and his body. His court was a foul cesspool, one that brought little joy to anyone.

‘Though’, Tywin thought, ‘when had one ever found joy at court?’

Aware of Rose’s gaze upon him, Tywin kept his features still. He kept his plans close to his heart, ones that all centered around his future wife, Sansa. After a year of mourning, he would take her away from London, where they would settle at Casterly Rock. It was a finer estate than anything London could offer; indeed, it was an estate that nowhere else in England could compare to.

Tywin knew the history of his home, the same as he knew the tender places on Sansa that made her gasp, and tug at his hair if he kissed or licked them. His father kept lions in the very courtyard of Casterly Rock, continuing a tradition that every Lannister Lord before him had done. It was a tradition that he intended to uphold, and Tywin's lips twitched, as he wondered what Sansa would think of the lion cubs he had sent for.

The Starks had their dire wolves, fierce some creatures that no menagerie in the world held. Sansa told him how she trained the Lady, the ever-faithful companion at her side, by her own hand. Lady was a gentle creature, though she could kill more than a pitiful rabbit, or a cantering deer. Tywin warmed to the memory of Lady lounging at his feet, with Sansa curled against him, during one of their earlier trysts; apparently, the dire wolf had never taken to Harrold Hardyng.

Oh yes, Tywin’s relationship with Sansa was – and would be – nothing like she had with Hardyng. He made her body his own as her past husband never had, and Tywin found himself _eager_ to worship her. It was a tenderness that he would have loathed in any other man, and would have sneered at if someone in his own family had behaved as such. Yet Tywin knew that he was a man well above other men, able to lock the tenderness of his heart inside him, where no one would ever know. He would never allow himself to openly have a weakness, he would never allow someone to know the weaknesses he held still inside of himself.

He found that Sansa was the same, as she was a wolf without a home and no pack behind her. She was lost within society with her husband's death, though Tywin would never allow her to be unprotected. Already his spies were encouraging stories of Hardyng's foolishness and his excitable nature.

It was a story well circulated through London, the story of his death when he’d pushed his steed forward, while well in his cups. He wanted to win a race or perhaps he wanted to gallop forward, and have his stallion kneel at a woman’s feet – who knew what Hardyng wanted to do?

The only thing that mattered was his steed had turned wild and threw his unfortunate master off his back. Hardyng was never known for his thoughts or practical nature, it was an end that none could whisper was because of poison in his wine, or someone placing a pillow over his face and smothering him in his bed. It was a fitting end, a reasonable end, and Tywin was pleased that it brought little shame to Sansa.

_Sansa_ -

He bathed her in silks and fineries beyond what she could ever dream of, with a pearl-encrusted collar for Lady, and fresh lemon cakes sent to her daily. Already, Tywin had assigned his steward to watch over her household, and provided her with an allowance, as if she were his already.

He knew that he could take her to Casterly Rock before the year's end, however, Tywin had little intention of shaming her. The ton mattered little to him, and there was no one except the king, that he had to appease.

Yet Sansa, she was different.

He knew Sansa cared for the fallen Stark name, more than she would ever say. Her family was gone, and Hardyng had sold Winterfell, a legal matter that Tywin’s solicitor was attempting to untangle. He would give his betrothed all that she wanted, if she loved him.

And he knew that she did.

As he dismissed Rose from his study and heard the door close behind her, Tywin threw his head back and laughed. “Gods above, what a fool I am,” for he knew that he was a fool for love, with his desires of Sansa in his bed, and a child at her breast. He wanted her and he would have her, and he wouldn’t lose her as Hardyng had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write something longer than a drabble?
> 
> ...Yes! 💜
> 
> I've been meaning to write something longer, one that I could upload as a full chapter. I'm so grateful with how kind all of my readers are, and I wanted to give you something longer to read. University started for me last week - my last year - and I have several projects due each week, but I'll always have time to update fics still. 🐱💙
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your support - your kudos, comments/messages, etc. mean the world to me, and I love hearing from you all! I hope to update more of my work soon (both for Game of Thrones *and* Harry Potter) and hope that you enjoy it. 💙💜

Sansa leaned against the balcony, watching as the waves violently crashed below.

It had taken little time for her to fall in love with her husband's ancestral home, Casterly Rock, though its significant history had overwhelmed her at the start if she paused and thought of all that came before her. Its very architecture was swathed in red and gold, and the lion that was their signet. Casterly Rock was far different than any place she had known before, let alone dreamed of.

There was the constant cry of seagulls and the soft murmur of servants as they filled the halls. Sansa made a point to introduce herself to every servant, learning something about each; their favorite treat, their long-forgotten dream, who made them laugh or if they longed to return to their childhood home. She wanted to know their hopes and their fears and asked that they call her by her first name, though most called her their Lady.

There was soon trust between them, as the servants realized she wouldn't dismiss them without reason, nor allow them to suffer at Casterly Rock. She had their rooms updated and promised recommendations for them all if any wished to find employment elsewhere. (Only two left their household; one, a woman who screamed in terror at the sight of Lady, while another, an elderly butler had little interest in seeing his Lord married…)

One woman from the countryside reminded her of Jeyne, with her sweet smile, and her blonde curls braided with pink ribbons. Sansa made her one of her personal maids, and a friendship quickly developed between them. It helped too, that her attendant never flinched when Lady came near and often hid a treat in her pocket for the gentle dire wolf.

Nor did her attendant shy away from the menagerie Sansa found herself creating, as she accepted every stray kitten, and songbird or sweet dove the traders brought with. There was a spaniel that slept in their sewing basket, while one of the servants presented Sansa with a tame squirrel, one that liked to hide nuts in her drawers, and often curled on her shoulder, preferring to fall asleep against her neck.

Tywin was less fond of her menagerie in its entirety, though he added to it with a flock of lamb that had wool as white as snow and a cow that wore a gilded collar, and laid its head in her lap whenever she visited the fields that surrounded Casterly Rock, with its wild garden, and stable. There were decorative ponds too, filled with koi that nibbled at her fingers, and ducks that were as tame as the songbirds that lived in her rooms. There was nowhere else like it, Sansa knew, the same as her husband was a man beyond measure.

Sansa knew the servants feared and respected her husband in equal measure, just as they had felt toward every Lannister before him. Casterly Rock was not always a home, with happiness painting its' walls. It was a place of history, a place of untold misery, with lions, once said to roam its ancient halls and magnificent rooms. It was the seat of the Lannisters, its might and its very history exemplified by her husband.

Tywin –

_Lord Lannister_.

The thought made her shiver, though she knew that Tywin was different with her. There was a side to him that he kept from the world, a possessive yet gentle tenderness that bound her to him.

His kisses, his words, his very hand on her shoulder drew her closer to him. He knew her body more than she and delighted when she came apart in his arms. It was his name on her lips and his touch engraved on to her very skin.

Yet Sansa couldn't help but smile, a small and delighted smile, as she recalled how he had buried his hands in her hair and groaned her name with reverence that very morning. She knew how to make him come undone with her mouth and her hand, and often felt charmed at the thought of it.

There was something that made her pulse quicken and her cheeks tinge pink at the fact that her husband wanted her, as her last never had. Handsome, reckless, Harry had never looked at her with naked want as he took her into his arms and whispered filthy things in her ear.

Harry had rarely wanted her at all, Sansa thought, the truth hurting far less than it had before. It was a dutiful love, one that her past husband had remembered and set aside in equal measure, according to his wish. It was one that she knew she couldn't accept, no, not ever again -

No matter what the _ton_ whispered.

Far from London, they were free from malicious whispers and harsh gazes, a facet of her new life that Sansa reveled in. For the first time since she became a woman, she was able to do as she wished. She found that she had little to fear, residing at Casterly Rock, where spiteful dowagers and cruel companions were kept far from their door.

She laughed with abandon and charmed the servants with reckless pleasure while surrounding herself with her husband's love. He was free with his touches and his words, and she craved him constantly in turn.

“ _My love_ ," she would whisper when she rode him with abandon, and his hands gripped her waist. He taught her things as she drew him into her arms and into her heart, their love without falter.

She loved him in a way that was different than all who came before, she loved him more than she had ever convinced herself she could love Harry.

"Oh Tywin," Sansa murmured, happier than she had ever been.

They were lovers and they were friends and they meant their vows more than countless others the _ton_ celebrated. Sansa would gladly accept her fallen reputation if it meant she stayed with Tywin, the ring on her ring finger meaning more to her than her virtue ever had.

Yet where there was a roar of scandal there were only whispers, as Tywin arranged it all. Sansa found that she did miss Harry, in the way that one missed a hound that had never hunted well, but sometimes curled at their feet or brought them an errant squirrel. Sansa had never dreamed of his death nor wished for it, no, and she named him in her nightly prayers.

Still, it was Tywin that had her nights and her days in ways that Harry never had, nor had he asked for. Sansa had quickly come to know what to expect with her first husband, as she closed her eyes to his infidelities, no matter how much they made her heart break. Soon after their honeymoon, she had learned theirs would be no great romance, nor the gentle, and kind warmth that her parents had enjoyed. She was feted and adored by society and sneered at in turn, and she knew that even Margaery had taken a turn with Harry.

With Tywin, it was nothing like she had known before, no, it wasn't even close to anything she had known before. Tywin wanted her whole and complete and was rarely apart from her. He had a decisive mind and made decisions quickly, yet never recklessly nor foolishly.

He was thorough and exact, yet often asked her advice, and accepted her opinion in the privacy of their chambers. There was little -if anything – that they sought to hide from each other, and every morning when he buried his head between her legs and lapped at her cunt, she found her heart filled with love for him. She found that she liked to please him in turn; like when she let down her hair and dressed only in her shift and surprised him in his study. The bruises he left behind were ones that she cherished, the same as his low groans, and the feel of his temple against hers.

She could never find the right words to express her delight with marriage, and how her life had turned when she wrote letters to Margaery or Jeyne. There were things she could never say, things that she knew would be discussed in every drawing-room in London if she admitted the truth to any Tyrell.

Life was not a song, no, it never was –

Yet Sansa cherished the life she had with Tywin and knew that she would continue to do so. Her arms moved to cradle her midsection, and her cheeks darkened as she felt the flicker of life inside her. For as long as she could remember she had wished for children, as much as the idea had disgusted her younger sister.

Sansa’s eyes fluttered closed, as the gentle breeze carried her dreams.

Would they have a daughter with the courage of Arya and the eyes of Tywin? Or a son, one with the golden hair of his father, and blue eyes the Tully's were famed for? Or would they have a child with the nature of the Starks and the looks of the Lannisters, a child that embodied both their father and their mother –

Sansa nibbled on her bottom lip, feeling her heart flutter inside her, as she ached for her dreams to come faster. She wanted it all, a child to delight in with her husband, one who would fill the halls of Casterly Rock with laughter, where they would know love every morning and every night. Sansa would never allow their child to know the sting of the ton’s cruelty, nor would she have them sacrifice themselves in marriage.

They would have everything that she had wanted, and everything that she had, without ever having to ache for it. Everything else seemed silly in comparison when Sansa thought of her dreams and her wishes when now her dreams were entwined with her family. She wanted happiness for Tywin and for herself, happiness that came with domestic bliss, and their child gleefully underfoot.

She wanted everything the gods would allow them.

“Sansa,” a familiar voice chided, as his arms wrapped around her waist. “Where you not there when the Maester said you’re on bed rest?”

“I was,” Sansa replied, tilting her head upward. She brushed her lips against the underside of her husband’s jaw, unafraid of his harsh tone. She knew that he would never hurt her and took comfort from the feel of his arms around her. “The same as I was at my mother’s side throughout her pregnancies, my Lord. She never took to her bed until it was her time – “

She gasped as he swept her off her feet, holding her against him as if she were a child still. “Tywin!” Sansa exclaimed, bursting into a fit of laughter.

“You _need_ to follow the Maester’s orders, wife,” Tywin said, pressing his lips against her temple.

The fear that he would lose her to childbirth was one that he never acknowledged, though he knew it was curled tight against his heart. Ever since his sweet wife had whispered the news in his ear, and drew his hand to her stomach, he had felt terror and sheer bliss, a concoction that hadn’t faded.

(Nor would it, until she had given birth, and left her bed.)

“I would rather follow yours, my Lord,” Sansa teased, as she rested her cheek against his collar. “Will you stay with me, Tywin?”

He laughed shortly, as he carried her to their bed, and let her down gently on to the covers. “You’re incorrigible, Sansa,” Tywin murmured, amusement slipping into his tone.

Her hand found his, their fingers entwining as she smiled up at him. “Please?”

He nodded his head, hiding his smile from her. “I suppose.”

He could deny her nothing, nor did he find that he wished to. She was the Lady of Casterly Rock and he was her Lord, though it was their names he treasured most; the sound of ‘Tywin’ on her lips unlike any he had heard before. She said his name with reverence, with love, the same as he said hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
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> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
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> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting back into writing longer chapters, and it feels satisfying compared to writing drabbles (though I have like four of them saved on my phone, that I haven't finished/uploaded yet!). 🌹
> 
> I've been reading a lot of Tywin/Sansa stories lately, and wanted to add another chapter to this! There is a trigger warning for childbirth/complications, though it isn't _too_ graphic, and ends well. 
> 
> Thank you so much for supporting my work. Every comment I receive, kudos, bookmark, etc. is one that I'm grateful for, something that I can't stress enough. You're all so kind and sweet, I hope that you're all safe and well. 🦢🤍

The birth of their son was far from easy.

Tywin knew that while men found their valor through bloodshed and war, women engaged in their own warfare. It was one filled with treaties and kind smiles, most resulting in wordplay that few men understood. For all that Tywin loathed snarling dowagers and debutantes stuffed into their gowns, he respected the subtlety that women used, as they laughed behind their fans while using the prettiest of words to ensnare a man.

A woman’s worth in society was entirely dependent on the man they married, and the importance of their family. It was a lesson they all knew, though a man could make his way in the world in a thousand ways that a woman couldn’t.

No, Tywin acknowledged, women only had a single way to make their lives matter, and most were like Sansa. Love was rarely expected from marriage, and respect wasn't always shown, as men married a woman of good standing, while having a mistress they found their pleasure with. Even then a woman wasn't safe, nor was the war won and declared in her favor. It wasn't enough for a woman to catch a husband, a man of substance, or at least high standing, they had to produce an heir and a spare too.

It was a truth that every woman knew, regardless of whether she was a princess swathed in ermine and fine silk or a woman who tended to the fields and had skin weathered by the sun. It was the natural order of things, one that Tywin saw little reason to change.

Yet when it came to _his_ wife, his beautiful and lively wife -

Tywin wanted more from his wife, as he sought to have her thoughts and her words, and her love. He never wanted in half-measures when it came to Sansa, no –

He wanted everything to do with her, he wanted all of her.

Her heart, her soul, and the children that he sprang from her womb. He wanted it all as a man in his cups ached for more wine, he wanted everything from her as a man undone. He wanted her like a faithful man wanted the gods to hear his prayers, he wanted her in a thousand different ways that a faithless man would never pretend.

Most of all, Tywin found himself wanting her to survive the birthing bed.

He would never betray himself by confessing all that he felt for her, though he was weaker when it came to his actions. It was his arm that she held as they walked the halls and the gardens of Casterly Rock, and it was his voice that she heard when her eyes grew tired, and she asked him to read aloud to her.

More often than not, it was Tywin that helped her undress, and he played the role of her maid when he washed her beautiful hair. He was more than her husband as society proclaimed, he was her most attentive servant, her most loving slave.

For all his reputation and his cold manner, Tywin loved her, as he never had another.

It was for this reason that he lay behind her, with her head leaning back against his shoulder and his arms around her waist, as she struggled to give birth. He never considered staying outside of their rooms, leaving her to the Maester, the midwife, and the servants that helped them. It was his hand that wiped the sweat from her brow, and it was his own voice that soothed and encouraged her.

His thoughts swirled as she whimpered and keened, while the midwife encouraged her to listen to her body. “Your body knows what to do, my Lady,” the midwife said, tucking her blonde curls back behind her ear. “You mustn’t fight it – “

Tywin promised the gods that he would leave his wife alone, never spilling his seed inside her if she survived childbirth. It was easy to dream and wonder of a family, yet another matter entirely to see his wife struggle. Her cries were all he could hear, and he tasted iron on his tongue as the smell of her blood seeped into the air. His stomach rolled and his teeth sank into his cheek, piercing the flesh there.

He knew that he wasn’t weak, the same as he knew his own name.

He knew too, that he wasn't whole without Sansa. Their affair had swept them both off their feet, the heady lust between them turning into so much more every time that he had her. There was never a thought of Harry or of their sin as they made love, for it was never anything but love, even as an ecstatic fire consumed them. Every kiss, every touch, and every look that passed between them was as sweet and true as the nectar the gods drank.

He loved her with all his soul.

And Tywin wouldn’t let it go, no, he would never let it go. He would never release Sansa from the Lannister home nor send her from Casterly Rock, for she was his home. He would see her thrive as the Lady of Casterly Rock, as the lost girl that turned into a powerful, and charming young woman. He wanted to lay the world at her feet, and would never allow her to leave it –

No matter what the gods wanted.

His thoughts turned from their child to Sansa, as he kissed her forehead and never stopped whispering encouragement to her. If she wanted him to be silent, she gave no indication; her eyes wide and frightened, like that of a startled doe.

'Leave her here,' Tywin thought as if he were the man to rail and plead with the gods. 'Leave her here with me, damn you – '

Regardless of his harsh nature, he faltered as tears rolled down her pale cheeks, and she weakly thrashed in his hold. Her frame was small and delicate, regardless of the fertility that ran rampant throughout her mother’s side. She was a Stark and Tully, yes, but she was Sansa, his wife, who was like a young girl still. She wanted love and a family, but her body struggled against the onset of pain.

Her hands abandoned his to claw at the sheets, kneading the fabric between her fingers. She wanted to root herself there as if she could keep her body and her soul present and avoid being taken by the gods. She knew – she always knew that meeting the Stranger was a danger of childbirth, and her heart hammered inside her chest.

“P-Promise me,” she mewled, wanting to see her husband’s face. “Promise me that you’ll l-love them,” the words were painful as they rolled from her tongue, and her husband flinched from them.

She knew that he would hide every good part of himself away if she passed, and she wanted to weep at the life their child would have. She never wanted their child to fear their father or feel stifled by the walls around them. She wanted them to know that life wasn’t a song, but anything could happen if they were loved, and loved in return.

She had never imagined anything else for them.

“Sansa – “

“ _Please_ , Tywin!”

It was all she could say in face of the pain, and she gasped for breath.

And it was pain unlike any she had known, as she cried out and twisted atop the fine sheets. Crimson seeped into the linens, staining it without end. She was beyond where her husband or the midwife or the Maester could reach her, she was beyond where anyone could. It was only when Tywin cried out her name that she faltered and collapsed in his arms.

She couldn’t take it anymore –

The gods didn’t listen as her pain increased tenfold, and she screamed as if a great fire was leaping and twisting inside her. She felt a searing pain, and then –

_Nothing_.

It was the midwife that darted forward, catching the babe that slid from between her legs. The attendants bustled forth, awash with cleaning the mother and child alike. Tywin found that he couldn’t take his eyes from his wife, as she slumped in his arms. “Tywin,” she whispered, “Is it – “

“A son, My Lord!” the Maester declared, bringing the bundled child forth. “A fine son, my Lady.”

Tywin swallowed as his wife outstretched her arms, and the Maester settled their son into her arms. “Our son,” Sansa whispered, her small voice filled with awe. She felt as weak as a newborn kitten, the place between her legs weeping and raw. Yet nothing could outweigh the wonder in her tone, nor the steady beat of her heart. “He’s…he’s here – he’s _safe_ \- “

Her husband wasn’t the only one to have fears during her pregnancy. Sansa had often drawn his hands to her rounded stomach, and let him feel their child flutter inside her, knowing more than to openly address his fears. Her husband was proud and as cold as the northern wind at times, yet she knew him better than most. She reassured him in her own way that she would survive, and continue to thrive as his wife, and as a mother.

She had fears regardless, ones that wormed and writhed inside her. For every birth that she had attended with her Septa, she saw a babe wrapped in fleece, before it was taken to be buried; the same as she heard a babe’s first cry, and watched as their mother nestled them in her arms, and encouraged them to suckle.

It was the same with Sansa's own mother, as she lingered beside her father, and watched as she gave birth. They were quiet and reverent times, though Sansa remembered how her mother had screamed during Rickon's birth, her cheeks gaunt and sweat rolling down her neck and her chest. It was then that Sansa learned her mother was the same as any other, a mortal that could meet the Stranger if the gods decided. And it was the gods' decision that Sansa feared, for she never wanted to lose her life nor her child.

“He is,” Tywin murmured, swallowing thickly.

It was more than he had ever imagined, the horrors of birth, the same as the awe that came with it. As the midwife moved to attend to his wife, he eased their son from her. Numbly, he considered the wrinkled, and red babe in his arms. He was his son, his heir, the future of the Lannisters.

No, Tywin thought. He was far more than that.

He was the child of he and his wife, the blood of countless, great families running through his veins. He was a child born from love, a rarity for a legitimate child. He would know what it was like to be a cunning wolf, one that protected its pack, the same as he would have the pride of any lion, and would learn the lessons of his family. He would learn to never falter, nor act a fool, the same as he would know loyalty and honor.

He would learn to survive like his mother, the last of the Starks, the same as he would learn to thrive like a Lannister. He would be the best of their line, and the worst of none, for neither of his parents would ever allow him to fall. Nor would they allow him to know what it was like to be unwanted and unloved.

“Stafford,” Tywin said, testing the name on his tongue. It was a respectable name, one laden with ties to the Lannisters. As a child, he was close to his first cousin, who went by the name.

“Stafford,” Sansa agreed.

It would have made her heart ache if they named their son after one that she had lost. She wanted to cuddle her child near, and love him with abandon, without mourning the soulful eyes of Robb, or the cheeky smile that Rickon had. She wanted to love her child for he was her son, and she knew that he was more than a tie to the past. He was their child, their son, and he claimed her heart the same as her husband had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more angst-ridden tysan stories I read, the more I felt inspired to update this one...💜🦕
> 
> Migraine and finals coming up (my semesters are split in a strange way) I'm going to try and follow a daily prompt for October! My plan is to use daily prompts to update current stories of mine, along with writing a couple new ones (if my health behaves!). It's the first year I'm trying something like this, and I'm excited about it. Are you guys following anything (inktober, kinktober, etc.)? 
> 
> And as always, thank you all so much for reading and supporting my work! It's the highlight of my day to share my work with you, and I love reading your comments and messages. Please stay safe! 🤍💜

" _You can't be serious, Tywin_!"

“ _Can’t I, my lioness_?”

Emma hid her smile as she dusted the wood paneling that lined the hallway.

She was mindful to keep her steps light and quiet, knowing how much her employers valued their privacy. If they knew she could overhear them, she would be scolded or moved to another section of the estate, something she wanted to avoid. She liked to look through the scattered windows that brought light to the hallway and overlooked the pretty gardens. There were birds too that liked to gather on the windowsills and looked through the glass as if they too wanted to live as the Lannisters did.

There wasn't a servant amidst Casterly Rock that missed the devotion between their employers, regardless of discreet they were. Lord Tywin hid his emotions well, the same as he rarely touched his wife when others could see. There was no question of Lord Tywin kissing his wife, nor having her in the stables as someone like Robert Baratheon would.

Therefore when a servant saw Lord Tywin take his wife’s arm, or saw her lean against his shoulder, it made them feel as if they were seeing something they never should – it was too intimate, too true for others to see.

To know.

It was well known that while the Great Lion - otherwise known as Tywin Lannister – terrified his servants and manipulated the _ton_ , Sansa charmed them all in turn. There were smothered rumors about her previous marriage and the way she was treated by Harry Hardyng…

Emma shivered, knowing her mistress's experience wasn't unique. Countless women were abused in their marriage and disrespected. Some bore their bruises openly, while others suffered their humiliation in silence, as they raised their husband's bastards, and ignored his whores. There was no other option for them, Emma thought, with a frown. Her father was the same, spending every coin on drink. It was a relief when Emma was able to work for the Lannisters, joining her grandmother at Casterly Rock.

She would much rather work than marry someone like her father, though she wasn’t _entirely_ averse to the idea of marriage. Happiness was found between some, as were the bundles of children that came. No, Lady Sansa’s experience wasn’t unique – only the news of her remarriage for few would have ever guessed that she was meant for a Lannister, especially the Great Lion himself.

Every servant was insatiable with curiosity when their master arrived with his new wife, something many of them had never imagined happening. Lord Tywin had never shown an interest in marrying before, nor was his line lacking with possible heirs – his sister, Genna, enjoyed a fruitful marriage, and his brother, Kevan was happy enough…and Tywin was a cold man, a cruel man if one believed the whispers about him.

No –

None of them expected Lady Sansa to walk through Casterly Rock’s doors.

She was prettier than the portraits that hung throughout the estate, of golden-haired women and blue-eyed men. Her stark, sun-kissed hair was a revelation, the same as the soft grays and brilliant array of pastels that she wore. Few would doubt her position, a collar around her neck bearing the Lannister signet, matching the ring her husband often wore. Emma thought there was truth to the whispers that Lord Tywin had coveted his wife even while she was married as if he knew that she was always intended for him.

As if she were a lioness in waiting, one wearing the mantle of a wolf when she was so much more than that.

It hurt to look at Lady Sansa, Emma thought, as swathed in gold as she was. Her handmaidens whispered about the countless pairs of shoes that she had; fine slippers crafted from silk and lace, falling apart an hour of wearing them. She was a Fae queen, her hair worn loose and unbound, with a blush on her cheeks and kindness in her eyes. Her dire wolf, Lady, was ever at her side, as were the lapdogs her husband secured for her.

The servants whispered that when Lady Sansa approached, there was always a stampede that followed of yapping dogs and a tame wolf, as well as a bird of paradise on her shoulder, and a kitten in her arms. It seemed as though their lady never lacked for company, as she made every room her own. She adored flower displays and insisted on airing out rooms that were closed for decades and found craftsmen to repair rooms that sorely needed their attention.

Nor were the gardens ignored, as she helped the gardeners herself, and visited her mare at the stables. Lady Sansa often rode with her husband beside her, their unrestrained laughter echoing across the estate. They were children again, tumbling free from their responsibilities then.

It was a side of Lord Tywin that few had ever seen, including those who served his father and remembered him as a young boy. Lord Tywin was always the pride of his house, with his legendary self-control, and his prized intelligence. He was everything that a Lannister was meant to be, though few would ever dare to answer if he was happy.

Was he?

With Lady Sansa, it appeared that he was.

Emma and her Nan who served in the kitchens both agreed Casterly Rock had lost its eerie, melancholy spirit after Tywin returned with his wife. There were fewer ghosts that stalked the walls, as it slowly felt like less of a mausoleum and more of a grand estate – 

No, that wasn’t right.

It felt like a home, with its airy rooms, and the warmth that swept through.

Sansa was charming and sweet and loyal too, as the servants found. When one of Tywin's numerous cousins stayed at the manor, they claimed their pocket watch was stolen. Rooms were sacked and the servants were admonished (with a young stable hand wetting himself) before Sansa appeared holding one of her lapdogs.

" _Please stop terrifying the servants, Tywin,"_ she'd gently chided before turning to his red-faced cousin, " _I believe this belongs to you, ser_."

The pocket watch dangled between her fingers, as Sansa explained she found her furry companion playing with it.

" _Sweet_ _Clementine delights in taking things that aren't his, I’m afraid_ ," she said before apologizing to her husband's cousin - and their staff as well.

It was something that few servants could remember happening before, most of them knowing servants were always viewed with suspicion. Their word was never trusted, and their actions were always labeled common by the ones they served.

If there was an exception, it was almost always the long-serving nursemaid or governess, or rarer still a capable chef that was indulged and cossetted, ensuring the family they served never had a burnt or spoiled meal.

It was entirely different for people like Emma, ones who dedicated their lives to cleaning an estate where the furniture always held more worth than the ones who cared for it. It came as a shock to more than just Emma to see how Lady Sansa truly _saw_ them.

Within weeks she had learned their names and their faces, asking after their families and their health, and took care to remember their name days. Lord Tywin had never been a cruel employer, nor did he harass the females as some did, but there was always a clear distinction made between them. He was a Lord, a Lannister, and they were his servants, a line that was never breached.

Emma giggled as she remembered Lord Tywin's expression when he found his wife in the library, with several servants (including herself) surrounding her with paper and quills in hand. 

Few of them knew how to read and write their letters and were astonished when Lady Sansa offered to teach them. She treated them as if they were a younger sibling instead of her charge, and she was patient when others would have been cruel. She reviewed the letters slowly and started with teaching them how to write their own names, and how to read them as well. The servants were grateful and excited, as they knew they would never read the classics – but they could read lists and write them too, as well as letters to their friends and relatives.

The idea that their Lady would teach them herself was unknown and unheard of. It was something that Lord Tywin nor any of his contemporaries would have dreamed of doing, and none of them knew how he would react. (He’d said nothing, searching his wife’s gaze before leaving the room…) 

It seemed that even Lord Tywin couldn't say _no_ to his wife. 

It hadn’t taken long for the outer world to know that Casterly Rock was far from a normal household, with servants and ladies alike spreading the gossip across the country. Finding that few employers wanted to emulate Lady Sansa, their servants abandoned them in droves, as they applied to work at Casterly Rock.

It was just as well that they did, for there were some servants that left the Lannister service entirely. Some servants were simply too old fashioned and disapproved of their new mistress, thereby finding themselves relieved, or sent away with a pension or/and a letter of recommendation. Emma knew that Lady Sansa didn’t desire to place anyone on the streets, though they all knew cleaning house was necessary (just as sweeping the chimney, or launder the sheets was).

The former horse keeper, Gregor Clegane, was one example; no one missing the brutish man. His position was quickly filled by his younger brother, Sandor, who treated the horses with a firm, but gentle hand and refused to teach them through fear. Meryn Trant was replaced by Varys as Lord Tywin’s valet, and it was said that Varys liked his master’s wife far more than Meryn had.

Emma knew that she would stay at Casterly Rock for as long as Lady Sansa was there. Warmth emanated from everywhere and everything that she touched, as if she were a queen from the fairy tales.

It was a tribute that made Lady Sansa laugh, as she’d shaken her head and patted Emma on the shoulder. “ _Perhaps once, when I was a foolish, little girl I wanted to be queen_ ,” she’d said, her tone rueful and true, “ _Or at the very least, a princess married to a golden-haired prince, with countless children between us_. _I’ve changed since then – I hope_.”

Emma had never repeated her words to anyone, as loose mouthed as her nan thought she was. She knew that some things were private, just as she knew that the Great Lion would never allow anyone to distress his young wife, especially after the servants knew the truth.

_Lady Sansa was carrying their Lord’s heir.  
_

The news that the Lannister couple were expecting was celebrated, the wine overflowing from the stable to the kitchens and every hallway in-between. Sandor carved a rocking chair out of a tree that felled on the property, while Emma and her nan stitched countless blankets and clothing for their mistress. Every servant’s eagerness was overflowing, none wanting to break until they could assist her as best, they could. Nor was Lady Sansa ever alone, as her husband halved his trips to London, and insisted on remaining by her side. There was Lady, her dire wolf too…

“ _I pray we’ll have an estate full of cubs soon_ ,” Emma’s Nan said, her lips curved into a knowing smile. She was hopeless in ignoring the couple, the same as Emma was (no matter how her Nan scolded her for eavesdropping on them when she could). They were irresistible and pretty, and Emma doubted there was anyone in _all_ of England that could resist them.

And when Stanford Lannister burst into the world, the estate breathed a sigh of relief, for it was unimaginable for their Lady to pass in childbirth. Nothing would have been the same after – nothing.

Emma had bruises on her knees from praying for her, the same as countless other servants had. They knew that Lady Sansa was smaller than most women, as delicate as she was, and their concerns heightened when Lord Tywin stayed in the birthing chamber with her. Sandor had gritted his teeth until his very gums bled, as he guarded the door (a role he’d insisted on) and listened to Lady Sansa’s screams…

" _He'll save her_ ," Emma's Nan said, though none of the others were as sure. 

The thought of losing their Lady or the Lannister heir was a horrifying one, something that no one wanted to contemplate. Each and every one of them knew that Casterly Rock would never feel the same, nor would Lord Tywin...

Only the horror of Stanford's birth was forgotten, as the servants soon fell in love with him, and forgave the pain he caused their dear lady. He was the very image of his parents and soon grew to have a bold yet sweet temperament. Emma would have eaten half her bonnet to have a child-like him, though she didn't have a sweetheart – _yet_.

“Mayhap when midsummer comes,” Emma mused, as she knew it was how her grandmother had found her beloved. She’d danced around the maypole with ribbons streaming in her hair, and her skirts scandalously high – and when she was done, she was eye to eye with a handsome man she soon married. If the Lannisters hosted a similar event, countless would come…

Emma cheered at the thought, determined to ask Lady Sansa later.

She always made time to listen to the household’s servants, remembering their questions and their concerns. She was everything a lady was meant to be, though she was kinder than most by far.

“For now, you’re my beloved, ser,” Emma teased, running her cloth down the sides of an aged portrait that hung in the hallway, displaying one Lannister ancestor or another. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly and Metalvenomludens7, thank you! 🦝🖤


End file.
